


Fairytale of New York

by a2zmom



Series: The Guilt Trembling Series [4]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-24
Updated: 2006-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a2zmom/pseuds/a2zmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't guess what life has in store and fairytales don't always work out as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The 1,932 commas in this fic are the property of tkp, my lovely beta.  
> Central Park is the property of NYC. I would like to thank the non-profit group The Central Park Conservancy for all its hard work in keeping it as the greatest park in the world.

"Have you studied for your French test?" Angel smirked at the not unexpected eye rolling and accompanying dramatic flounce.

"Yeah."

"So you'll be doing better than a C this time around." He merely shook his head at the completely blank look. "Come on, I'll help you study."

"You don't have to do this. I mean, you're my watcher, not my private tutor and isn't it getting close to patrol?"

"Think of me as a full service watcher. So, study time. Now."

Twenty minutes passed in which she had managed to not accomplish anything. "The test isn't going to make a difference anyway." She pouted, giving him the full lower lip treatment. "I'm graduating in two months."

"No excuse for not doing well."

"You know you wouldn't be on my case all the time, if you'd just get laid."

"What!" Angel's eyes bugged out as he sputtered in amazement.

"Just saying. What are you, forty-one? Can't be healthy."

"First off, I'm thirty-four. Secondly, my sex life--"

"Lack of a sex life."

"Is hardly your business. Thirdly, I haven't forgotten your French test."

His young charge shook her head and grinned evilly. "I went to that new magic shop and I think the owner would be perfect for you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper as she kept up her commentary. "She's an amateur witch and I'm pretty sure she knows about the demony side of life. Tacey Monroe. She's really pretty, auburn hair, tallish, nice laugh, so give her a call," as she slid the phone number over to him.

"What kind of name is Tacey," he groused.

"What kind of name is Cian?" she countered.

"Irish and quite respectable. Stop trying to change--" And with that, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it. You keep studying. Or should I say start?"

He walked to the door, wondering who it could be on a Thursday night at 8:15 PM. Once he opened the door, he was rendered speechless for a minute. "Buffy? What are you doing here?"

She gave him a too-bright smile. "Cian. Didn't you get the e-mail? The council was sending someone in admin just to talk with Arianna, see how everything's going. That kind of thing."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember." He shook himself as if to wake himself out of a deep slumber.

"I came straight from the airport. Would you believe there was a large address-eating dog in the seat right next to me, so if you could let me know where Arianna lives…?"

"She's here. In the kitchen, doing homework." He stepped aside and Buffy came in, carrying a small suitcase.

He led her through the apartment into his eat-in kitchen, where Arianna sat with an open textbook. As soon as she looked at the older slayer, she jumped out of her seat. "Miss Summers, I mean Mrs. Knightly, I mean what an honor."

Buffy grinned at her. "Please, call me Buffy. You're making me feel old here." She turned to look at Angel. "Cian, could you maybe wait in the living room. I know I'm imposing here, but I'd like to talk to Arianna alone for a little while."

For a moment, Angel seemed in a stupor, and then went into overdrive. "Yeah, no problem, take as long as you'd like. Wait, didn't you say you just came in from London? Would you like some water?" He strode to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. "Anything else you'd like? Bathroom is to the left."

Buffy shook her head, laughing. "I'm fine. Really. Now shoo."

Angel hunched over on his couch, arms resting on his thighs as he listened to the murmur of female voices. As his eyes began to unfocus, the world melted away. He hadn't seen her in three years; the last time was at Giles' flat. He had gone there at her insistence. He had just taken his first tentative steps toward rejoining humanity, his shanshu almost five years earlier nothing but a reminder of his failings until that point. Accidentally running into Buffy, however, had made him rethink his pitiful non-existence. Made him think that maybe he could put the past behind him and find some happiness. When he'd gone to Giles' to see the old gang -- but mostly to see if he and Buffy could start over, he had been shocked to find out that she had also put the past behind her and had fallen in love with someone else.

When he received the engraved invitation six months later, he had sent a tasteful, expensive gift, included a hand written note wishing them much happiness, and regretfully declined the invitation. He had stayed in his apartment for two days after that, lying in bed in the dark, not eating, moping and feeling sorry for himself. And then he had snapped out of it. Because the other thing that had occurred while he was in London was that he decided to become a Watcher.

Hearing Ari's combination giggle/snort shook him out of his musings. He knew the council sent people out to each of the slayers on a rotating basis to ensure that they were happy, being properly trained, weren't being taken advantage of. Was he a good watcher? He didn't have any idea. He knew he rode Ari pretty hard a lot of the time; he hoped he didn't push her too far. He pushed his hands through his hair, nervousness zinging through his body. He lost everything and everybody time after time. He expected this would be no different.

The two women walked out of the kitchen, Arianna literally bouncing in place. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn she was coming off a three-day sugar bender.

"Can Buffy come slaying with us? That wouldn't be a problem, would it? I mean, I know we sort of have a rhythm going but…"

Angel held up his hand to stop Arianna from a complete crash and burn. "I don't think that would be a problem. After all, she's been slaying since almost before you were born." An image flitted through his mind of an impossibly young Buffy patrolling and kissing him through the cemeteries of Sunnydale.

"Great!" Ari went over to the huge steamer trunk that doubled as Angel's coffee table and flipped it open. Pulling out a small crossbow, bolts and several stakes, she turned to look at Buffy. "Want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. I always travel with my own stakes and I find that's usually more than enough."

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

"…and that move where you did that leg sweep with the right leg and then threw the other vamp over your left shoulder. So cool. I'm going to practice that over the weekend."

Angel hid his grin. Arianna hadn't taken a breath since patrol ended. She opened her car door and waved at Buffy and Angel. "It was awesome slaying with you, Buffy. Super-ass-kicking. Don't forget," she said, looking at Angel. "I have a hot date with Bingo, so no slayage tomorrow."

"Don't forget the difference between past imperfect and regular past tense tomorrow."

"Yes, Dad." Arianna over enunciated the words with an exaggerated look skyward.

She drove off and Angel and Buffy stood on the street until the car was out of sight. "Bingo?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not his given name," Angel explained. "Or, possibly she's dating a dog."

They were in front of his apartment building now. "Is it ok if I come in for a few minutes? I want to talk to you about Arianna."

Here it comes. His fleeting good humor completely dissipated. Arianna's left side had been completely unprotected when fighting that third vamp. Later on, three vampires had surrounded her and Buffy had had to jump in to help her. And that tenth vampire was a lot more challenging than it should have been. Wearily, he sat on the couch and then remembered his manners. "Would you like a drink? I've got fresh brewed ice tea."

"Sounds lovely," Buffy agreed as she plopped on the couch next to him.

Five minutes later, Buffy was sipping an iced tea, while Angel leaned forward on the couch, hands nervously tapping out a rhythm on his knees.

"So, about Ari." Angel could feel every one of his muscles tense. "She's one of the best of our younger slayers. Great technique, incredibly enthusiastic, highly motivated. Very talented."

Angel was so relieved that he was speechless, but Buffy didn't seem to notice. "And most of it is your doing, Cian. I remember her at Giles'. She was so scared of her calling. You're a wonderful watcher."

Angel hung his head, embarrassed by her praise. In all the years he had walked the earth, he finally felt that he found his purpose.

"You love her, don't you?"

He picked his head up at that, startled by her words. And then he considered it. He spoke slowly, carefully weighing his words. "She's my slayer; I can't imagine her not being part of my life. She's incredibly precious to me so I guess I do love her. But if you mean that I want to date her? That never crossed my mind. She's way too young for me for one thing."

Buffy gave an undignified snort. "Oh please. She's older than I was."

"That was fifteen years ago. I'm older."

Buffy flipped her hair. "When you're pushing three hundred, I don't think a few years makes all that much difference."

Angel had no idea what Buffy was playing at but he did know he was getting annoyed. He was about to tell her it was none of her damn business, and then it occurred to him that maybe she was just making sure that nothing improper was going on. She was here, after all, to ensure that Ari was fine in all respects. He took a calming breath and then spoke. "I was twenty-six when I was turned." He saw Buffy's eyes widen and he realized that she likely had never known exactly how old he was when he died. They had never talked about it.

"Back in those days, it was the norm for a man that age to marry a girl who was a young teenager. So, in that sense, it didn't seem odd to me that you were so much younger." He shifted a bit on the couch, lost in thought. He had seen her called and then followed her secretly for a year, helping in whatever capacity he could. He had watched as her parents fighting grew constant and bitter, watched as her friends pulled away and shunned her, watched as her normal carefree existence became a distant memory. Somehow, through it all, she kept her head up. She taught him about strength and hope and courage. And when she unexpectedly let him into her heart, she showed him that he had those traits inside of him also.

"I was a different person back then. We were different people back then. After I moved to L.A., a lot happened." He stopped briefly as he thought of all that had befallen him there. "I'm a thirty-four year old man now. Teenagers don't interest me anymore. I wake up with sore muscles, I hate rap music and my idea of a good time is sitting at home with a book."

"That was always your idea of a good time." He gave a small, sheepish shrug.

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. Then she slid her gaze over until he was looking into her eyes. "So if you met my sixteen year old self now, you wouldn't be interested?"

"No. I really wouldn't." But your thirty-year-old self is a different story. He deliberately broke eye contact. She was married now. He had no business thinking such thoughts.

"Thanks for letting me take up so much time. I'm sorry I grilled you just now, but it's part of the process. I meant what I said before. You're a fantastic watcher." She stood and stretched a little. "I hope the hotel kitchen is open."

Angel gave her a suspicious look. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday," she admitted. "The airplane food gave me a flash back to the Sunnydale High cafeteria and it was not of the good."

He glanced at the clock on the shelf. "It's almost 12:30. The hotel restaurant will be long closed. Let me cook you some eggs."

"I don't want to impose."

Angel strode across the living room into the kitchen. Sticking his head into the refrigerator, he began pulling items onto the counter.

"Would you like peppers, onion, mushrooms? Swiss cheese?"

Admitting defeat, Buffy followed into the dinette and sat down. "Sounds yumlicious."

He began to quickly chop the vegetables as he looked over at her. "So, how is everybody? How's Damien?"

Damien and I split up. It was never going to work when my heart still belonged to another.

"Cian, Cian? Are you ok? You seemed to space out there for a moment."

"No, I'm fine. It was nothing."

She nodded, blonde hair bouncing around her head. "Well, like I was saying, Dame is great. He would have been here, but some scroll thing turned up in some weird demon language that he's an expert in. Why can't those things ever be written in English?"

Her complete indignation prompted a small smile from Angel.

"Dame is second-in-command to Giles, did you know that? If anyone had told me that I was going to wind up with Giles, the studlier version, I would have said no way."

"How's everybody else?" He actually did want to know, but more importantly, he couldn't bear to hear another word about her happy married life.

"Well, Willow just started dating a doctor. He seems really nice, but…"

"He? I thought she was gay?"

"She finally realized she was bi. And she keeps breaking up with people after about a year. I just wish…" She was more talking to herself than to him, and looked away for a moment. "Giles is still Giles. And Dawn, believe it or not, is dating Xander."

"Xander? As in Harris?"

"Yup, the very same. They're actually cute together, once I got over the initial shock. They're based in Italy, my old stomping grounds. I'm thinking wedding bells." She was happily munching on the omelet at this point. "Mmm, tasty. Didn't know you could cook. I saw Faith recently." She noticed Angel's surprise at that statement. "There was some kind of super big bad over in Chicago and I went over to lend a hand. We've…sort of put the past behind us, I guess. It was fun working together again. Reminded me of the old days, except without her turning evil and trying to kill everybody."

Kill him, she meant. He wondered if that wasn't the real reason that Buffy was finally able to move past her issues with Faith. So many of them had been tied up with him, and he was no longer a factor in Buffy's life.

"She said that you should stop blaming yourself for the past and that if you don't call her, she's going to come here and kick your ass so hard your balls will turn inside out."

Angel's eyebrows lifted up toward his hairline. "I'm assuming that was a direct quote?"

"Well, there might have been a few fuck yous in there also."

"I'll bet." He reached over and took Buffy's now empty plate over to the sink and noted the yawn she was barely covering up. "Instead of going to the hotel, I have a spare bedroom if you'd prefer. It would take me five minutes to put new sheets on, and this way, you could get to sleep quicker."

"Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" He shook his head no. "Then I'll take you up on that," as she yawned again.

He quickly got sheets and towels out. From the spare bedroom, he called out, "What time is your flight out?"

"Not til late. Ten P.M."

He was surprised by that and without really thinking, called out, "Do you want to do some sight seeing?"

"Love to. Except I've seen most of the touristy places."

"How about Central Park?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, memories he didn't need stirred up. Buffy seemed completely unaware of any deeper meaning, but that was where she had found him three years ago. He longed to take them back.


	2. Chapter 2

"So there's stuff here besides trees?" She deftly stepped out of the way of a speeding roller blader.

"You'll see."

"Didn't realize the cryptic thing was still in full force." Directly to their left, just off the path was a large rock formation. "Is it ok to climb on that?"

"Sure." He watched her face light up as if she was three instead of thirty.

"Race you to the top," as she took off. She stood tall up on the very top of the rock formation, arms flung wide, body silhouetted by the sun. "I'm king of the hill," she loudly exclaimed when Angel arrived a few minutes later. "And you're a slowpoke."

He shook his head in fond amusement and watched, mesmerized, when she jumped off the rock, gracefully landing on the ground a second later. She was power and strength personified and his heart swelled at the sight.

 

"I had no idea there was a zoo in the park."

"There's actually two zoos, but we'll skip the second one."

They crowded around the huge outdoor pool and watched as the sea lions played to the crowd, diving and twisting under the water. As they started to walk toward the remainder of the exhibits, Buffy stopped short.

"There aren't any hyenas here, are there? I'm anti-hyena."

"Anti-hyena?" Angel repeated incredulously.

"Yup. The Hyena Anti-Defamation League lists me as public enemy number 1."

"I had no idea you were hiding such a dark secret. Well, you're in luck. No hyenas."

They visited the various small animal exhibits that circled the sea lions' home, making appropriately gross faces at the hissing cockroaches, snakes and spiders. When they got to the monkeys, Buffy peered anxiously for a moment and then relaxed.

"Problem?" Angel asked.

"Those organ grinder monkeys once had a big role in a nightmare of mine so I don't like them very much. But this is a different kind of monkey."

"You have a lot of zoo issues," he teased.

She pouted at him. "I prefer to think of it as charming personality quirks."

The final exhibit was the Artic zone. After checking out the polar bears, they moved to the next habitat to watch the penguins. The birds waddled around, becoming much more graceful as they zoomed through the water. A favorite past time for the penguins was sliding down an icy ramp straight into the pool.

Buffy shook her head. "I don't care how padded their skin is –"

"-- their butts have to be numb," Angel finished. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Why do you think that one is so anti-social?" Buffy pointed to one penguin sitting away from the rest of the flock.

Angel looked at him for a moment. "He actually has a red nose and the other penguins won't let him join in any penguin games."

"He's pining." The voice came from their left. The young teenage boy had a shock of red hair that looked as if it had never been combed and so many freckles it was hard to discern his actual skin color.

"Pining? How can you even tell something like that?"

"I want to be a zoo vet when I grow up so I'm here a lot. Elroy's nest mate is in the infirmary so he's lonely."

"That's amazing, " Buffy said. "I didn't think a bird would care."

The boy shrugged. "Penguins mate for life."

"Oh," she said softly, her previous laughter all gone.

 

"I can't believe we're in the middle of Manhattan. Unless I look up, you can't even see the buildings. It's beautiful."

Angel smiled and carefully dipped the oars in the water, pulled them against the weight of the water and lifted them out again. A family of ducks was giving them a suspicious look as they languidly floated by. The dogwoods and cherry trees were in full bloom and the weeping willows added a stately look. It was easy to think they were on a private estate someplace.

"You know, it would make a lot more sense if I rowed."

"I am not letting you row this boat, Buffy."

"I didn't realize you had a problem with me being stronger than you."

Angel sighed. "That's not the issue. You've always been stronger than me, even before." He stopped rowing and took a deep breath. "It doesn't bother me. But considering there are at least ten other rowboats out, there's no way I'm going to let them wonder why the big brawny guy is making the teeny little girl do all the work. They don't know that you could haul me out of the boat and toss me onto the shore."

She giggled at that. "So if this was a private lake, I'd be rowing?"

"Damn straight."

"And the whole super chick thing really doesn't bother you?"

"Truthfully, I used to find it a turn on." As soon as he said that, he wondered how the hell his mouth had disconnected from his brain. Actually, he did know. She was semi-lying back in the boat, looking absolutely delectable. But that didn't mean he had any right to say things like that, and he mentally prepared for her indignation.

Instead, her eyes closed, she gave him a long, lazy smile. "Too bad I never knew. Maybe I woulda tied you up or something."

Surprised at her reaction, he was grateful that her eyes were closed. Not only could he feel his face turning red but his cock had jumped to attention.

 

"This look like a great place to veg."

"Yeah, it is." All around them, people played Frisbee or catch, flew kites or listed to MP3 players. Or snuggled in the arms of a special someone. Angel tried not to look at the couples that surrounded him. He was content with spending time with Buffy in a purely platonic manner. Or so he told himself. He quickly glanced at his watch, making sure they weren't running late.

"You have no idea how bizarre that is."

"What?" His expression was almost comically puzzled.

"Seeing you look at a watch. I'm used to you having that freaky internal clock thing going."

He shoved his arm deep into his pocket, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, well, everything changes," he mumbled.

They walked a few more feet when Buffy put her hand on Angel's arm to stop him. "Do you hear that? It sounds like the circus."

"Not the circus. But it is where we're going." They crossed the road and down a path that lead them to a courtyard and a red brick building. The music was coming from inside. Around the courtyard were various wagons selling snack items.

"A merry-go-round. It's amazing."

"It's almost one hundred years old." They quickly got in line, surrounded by children and their families. While they waited they watched as the prancing horses whirled by. The interior drum contained raised circus figures, including a seal balancing a ball, a clown with a large rocket attached to his back and another clown who was holding the tail of a monkey. The calliope that was pumping out the music could also be seen.

"Be right back," Angel said. A minute later he returned carrying two sticks of cotton candy.

"Oh, Jem Girl hair." Angel gave her a look of complete befuddlement. "When we were little, I was eating it once. Dawn asked what it was and I said it was how Jem's hair got pink. Then there was a little incident with Dawn's head I had NOTHING to do with, she ate my hair, and I got grounded for a week." Buffy stuck her tongue into the center of the spun sugar and pulled it out, licking happily at the red sugar crystals around the hole she'd made.

"Uh." Angel said. "Who's Jem?"

Buffy looked at him and sighed. "Only the lead singer of the best cartoon rock group ever. That was during your 101 ways to prepare rats days, so I forgive you."

Angel was silent a while. "I figured this was a cotton candy sort of ride."

"Well, you were right."

"Dawn really tried to eat your hair?"

Buffy shrugged. "She was three."

As she carefully licked the remaining stickiness off each finger, Angel looked away. The sight was much too erotic.

The gates finally opened and the crowd surged onto the carousel. The horses were arranged in rows of four and Buffy ran to the innermost horse in a row of black ones. Sliver manes and tails, legs arranged in a gallop, the body of the horse appearing to surge right off the pole, it was a sight to behold. Angel's horse was similarly painted, although since his saddle was festooned with flowers, it wasn't quite as fierce looking. He was about to swing onto the horse, when he noticed a boy of about eight, looking forlornly at the other two horses in the row, which had similarly aged riders already in tow.

"Those your friends?" The boy nodded, eyes wide with disappointment. "Well, then you take this horse." A wide smile split his face and he scrambled up. Angel looked around. The only open horse at this point was one five rows back. He was about to walk toward it, changed his mind and easily slid behind Buffy, lifting her up so that she was basically sitting on his thighs.

"Excuse me?" she said, twisting around so she could look at him.

He shrugged. "He's got a wild look in his eyes. I'm pretty sure he's an untamed horse."

"So you're implying that I can't handle a big, bad horsie?"

"Well, I have been riding since before you were born."

She looked a bit chagrinned. "Forgot about that. So, you're going to protect me?" she said, falling back against his chest.

"Mmm-hmmm." The horses were picking up speed now, the outside world becoming a blur. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist and started softly singing along with the organ.

"Casey would waltz  
With the strawberry blonde   
And the band played on.  
He'd glide 'cross the floor  
With the girl he'd adore  
And the band played on. "

"You have a terrible singing voice," Buffy laughed.

"Which is why you've never heard me sing before and likely won't ever hear it again."

She snuggled back further against his chest and he wished he knew a spell so that the ride would never end. Instead he could feel the horses already beginning to slow down. Half a minute later, they were outside of the little brick building.

"I can't think of the last time I had this much fun. This was a wonderful idea, Cian."

Hearing the name Cian effectively ended any fantasy he might have been harboring. "I was thinking we could go to this Chinese place I like. That should leave you enough time to repack and make your flight." She nodded but he could see she wasn't that enthused. "You're tired aren't you?"

"No, no I'm fine. Chinese sounds great."

"Or I can cook us a fast meal and then you can nap until it's time to go."

"Well." She scrunched her face up as she thought about it. "I guess I am a little bushed."

"We're already back at fifty-ninth. I'll call us a cab and we'll go."


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy settled back into the couch, contentedly sipping a glass of white wine. Various bustling noises could be heard from the kitchen. "I still can't wrap my mind around you cooking."

"It was either cook or starve to death. Besides, I used to cook a little in L.A. for my friends." He tried to keep the melancholy out of his voice, but when Buffy fell silent, he supposed he wasn't that successful. He decided he'd better try to repair the damage. "It's been a while. I'm pretty much…"

"No, no," she interrupted. "I was thinking that it must have been nice for you to take care of them like that. I'm sorry I didn't know them."

He was surprised that she had known exactly what those meals had meant to him. Then again, she always did understand him.

"So, what do you do during the day?"

Angel looked up from his chopping for a moment. "How long has Giles been your watcher? I figured you knew what I did."

Buffy rolled her eyes, even though Angel couldn't see it. "I meant while Ari's in school. You're not researching all day long."

"Different things. I did a sketch of Arianna and someone saw it, so I've been doing the occasional portrait."

"You've been painting? Where's your studio?"

"My bedroom's pretty big, so I converted most of it."

"Cool."

Angel heard rather than saw Buffy walking across the floor and the opening of a door. It took a moment for his brain to puzzle out the entire scenario, but then he sprinted out of the kitchen, dropping the fork on the countertop and switching off the stove. "Buffy, I don't want anyone in my…"

"Oh! Oh."

The popular conception was that artist studios were romantic, broken down garrets, brushes and canvases flung everywhere. The truth was much more mundane. Paints that weren't capped dried out. Brushes that weren't rinsed became ruined. Due to a small working space, coupled with Angel's natural tendency toward orderliness, his studio space was a model of clutter-free efficiency. His brushes were carefully lined up by size in small boxes mounted to the wall. His blank canvases were neatly stacked against one wall, right past the foot of his bed. Directly in front of his bed was his easel, a half-finished landscape in progress. Paints were lined up in color wheel progression on a shelf over a small desk. And in an unusual display of sloppiness, a sketchpad was opened on the desk, turned to a page that held dozens of drawings of one Buffy Anne Summers.

He hadn't been able to sleep last night, knowing that she was so close by. He had spent an hour staring at the cracks in the ceiling, imagining he could hear her even breathing, wondering/knowing how she looked in her sleep. Finally he had gotten up, pulled out his old sketchpads that were covered with pictures of her, and had started drawing.

He tried to gauge her reaction, but he had no idea what she was thinking. She flipped through page after page. He knew exactly what she was seeing. Sketches of her as a teenager, baby fat still clinging to her cheekbones. Slaying, sleeping, doing research, all drawn with the look of love in her eyes. A large set of erotic drawings where she was alternately sensual and wanton. Pictures where she was a bit older, all displaying intense emotions of anger or grief. The next few pages were done just a few years ago. Here she appeared content, but she never looked directly at the artist in any of the portraits.

The last set of drawings had been drawn last night and this morning, which explained why the sketchbook was still open. Angel hoped she didn't understand what he had been trying to capture in these. A pretty, vibrant woman who wasn't emotionally connected to the artist in any way. He had been trying to convey the longing he still felt, but he wasn't completely sure he had been successful.

Neither of them said anything. The only noise was the soft rustling of paper as she kept flipping back and forth between pages. Finally she looked up, the current page still held between her fingers. "I don't understand. Why? Why are you…Dawn told me that you said you didn't love me any more. That you had moved on."

"I did."

Throughout the long years of their relationship, he had only outright lied to her once and after that, he had vowed that he never would again. It hadn't stopped him from telling her only partial truths, knowing full well she would come to the wrong conclusion. Sometimes he had done it to protect himself, sometimes to spare her, sometimes because it was the only choice he had. He knew if he said nothing else that she would misinterpret. He knew that was what he should do; she was married now and he had long ago lost any claim he might once have had. He knew but he didn't care.

"I did say that that, but it was a lie. In the last fifteen years there hasn't been a single day where I haven't thought about you, even if it was only for a second, a week hasn't gone by where I haven't wanted you, a month hasn't passed where I haven't wished…"

During his last few words, he had stalked across the room until he was directly in front of her. He stared into her eyes, but he couldn't read her expression. He took another step until there was almost no space between them and placed his hands on the desk on either side of her.

He bent down and began to kiss her ferociously, passionately, and barely a second passed before she was kissing him back with equal abandon. He reached around her and knocked his sketchpad to the ground and in one fluid motion hoisted her onto the desk.

His right hand was under her shirt, just resting on the bottom of her rib cage, his fingers splayed across her belly. He could feel her breathing speed up. Her skin was so soft, but the hard muscles directly under the surface exposed the dichotomy between utterly feminine and hardened warrior. He still found it an intense aphrodisiac. He could smell the clean scent of soap and the light citrusy smell of her perfume but he could also smell a hint of her sweat and he was instantly transported back years. They say that certain smells are comforting to people, baby powder and crayons, fresh baked cookies and the air after it rains. For Angel, comfort was the scent of Buffy herself.

She was making small noises into his mouth that he swallowed down, and her hand was just below the small of his back, whisper touching the sensitive skin right underneath the waistband of his boxers, just gently, gently touching. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life and the way she was teasing his skin if she'd only touch him like that right. There.

His tongue was in her mouth now and she tasted like some exotic tropical fruit mixed with cotton candy with an undertone of peppermint (toothpaste, his mind murmured) and his left hand was pushing against the wall and his right hand was under the band of her bra, and she was moaning now, and he was still drinking her down, her noises and her breath and could he faint from lust and want and need? Her hand was no longer on his tailbone and he pushed his body in closer.

She was nipping his lips now and when she stopped, he pushed his tongue in and out of her mouth and she puckered up around it, for a second sucking on his tongue. She was groaning, her voice low and earthy, the sound traveling through his body. His hand was cupping her right breast and his palm was sliding the cotton fabric back and forth over her distended nipple. He could feel her hands pull open his belt and pop open his pants' button and he was impossibly harder as her fingers combed through the coarse hair at the top of his groin.

He thrust his body closer to hers, seeking more, needing her to lose control…

And then took one step, two steps, three steps backward. "We can't. I can't -- I don't…"

Silence hung like a heavy curtain between them and then was shattered by Buffy's shrill laugh. He saw self-loathing flit across her face and he understood that she thought he had pulled back on the basis of morals. Maybe once upon a time he would have. But that hadn't entered his mind at the moment.

"It's not because…" he stuttered. "There aren't…" and again he stopped, unable to find the words. He took another step backwards and bumped into his bed. Sitting down heavily, he hung his head. "I don't have any condoms," he finally explained, feeling like a fool.

Buffy's eyes widened a bit and then she laughed again, except this time there was an undertone of fury. "Well, I'm not surprised." Her tone was ice. "I'm sure you have a parade of women marching through your bedroom, so I guess you run out of rubbers on a regular basis."

Her words infuriated him. He was angry that she was right about the parade of people in bed after he first turned human, angry that he still wanted her and once again couldn't have her, angry that she was judging him when she had no right to, angry simply because she was angry at him. He was about to spit back an equally venomous retort, when he caught a glance of her face. Along with the anger, he saw sorrow? Fear? He wasn't completely sure, but it tempered his remarks.

"I don't own any condoms because I haven't been with anyone since I saw you in London three years ago."

This time there was no mistaking the surprise on her face. "You don't deserve to be lonely like that."

He shrugged. In truth, he deserved that and more.

"Ironic," she said half under her breath, while she pushed her feet back onto the floor. She was looking past him into space, but he decided not to ask her what was wrong. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

"When we were first reforming the council, I asked Giles if he could leave a few things out of his official watcher's journal. I asked him if he could leave out the entire story about Willow going crazy and trying to end the world. I was afraid that all the new slayers would never completely trust her if they knew the truth."

Angel tried to appear unaffected by Buffy's confession. Even he didn't know the full story about Willow.

"And I asked him not to write that I was dead and brought back to life. I didn't want the girls to not be able to relate to me. I didn't want them to always look at me. So, aside from Dawn and Giles and Willow and Xander no one knows. No one. Well, you know."

She paced a little, back and forth in front of the desk. She sat down on the bed, leaving plenty of space between them.

"I was so messed up after Willow resurrected me. I didn't even want to be alive."

Angel's chest tightened in pained remembrance.

I'll come back to Sunnydale with you. I know you're hurting right now. I'll help you through all of this."

"You could. You could make me stop hating my friends and you could help me take care of Dawn and you could help me patrol and you could make the world stop being so ugly. You could make me want to live again. And when that happens, are you going to stay with me? We both know you won't."

He didn't say anything and finally turned away from her. "Don't call me anymore, Angel. I don't want you in my life anymore."

And he hadn't called her for a year and a half, until he came to Sunnydale to deliver an amulet to save her life and the world.

She was starting to speak again and he silently vowed to be there for her now, whatever she needed.

"I went to Tara, Willow's girlfriend?" Angel nodded; he vaguely recalled being told about her. "I asked her to find out what was the matter with me. She did some magic testing and told me basically nothing. That it was like a sunburn.

"About a year after we were married, Damien and I decided to start a family."

Her abrupt change of subject wasn't all that surprising to Angel; non-linear conversation had always been a specialty of Buffy's. The fact that she was staring at her lap, idly playing with a strand of hair, told him that more was going on. He carefully schooled a neutral expression, even though the revelation that she had been planning a family was a knife to the heart.

"Three months passed, then six months, then nine months and I still wasn't pregnant. We started going to doctors. They ran a lot of tests. Unpleasant tests. Dame was fine. The doctors came to talk to me alone one day, I think, because things didn't add up. They were hoping that maybe I could shed some light on what they saw."

Angel had seen Buffy ecstatic, he had seen her despairing, but he had witnessed the look that crossed her face now only one other time, when he had seen her after she had returned from the dead. An involuntary shiver overtook him.

"The doctors thought I had primary amenorrhea, except none of the secondary symptoms matched. Ever hear of it?" Buffy's tone was almost conversational except for her dead expression. Angel carefully kept his gaze locked onto her face as he slowly shook his head. "Women who have it don't have their periods, they tend to look masculine, have brittle bones. None of that applies to me. They only thing that does apply is I have no eggs. None. No little babies for me." Her voice had become a whisper and she was rocking, back and forth, her eyes unseeing.

Tears were running freely down her face but she kept talking as if she didn't realize it. "See, I know what the matter is. And it's not an illness. It's not genetic. It's magic. When Willow brought me back, she bargained for one life. Mine. Not all those other potential lives. They stayed behind. I'm a freak. I'm a freak." Her voice finally broke and now she was crying outright.

He gathered her into his arms and held her. As always, he was struck by how small she was; his hand easily spanned her back. When she finally quieted, he pulled back so he could look at her face. "I'm sorry you can't have children. But I'm selfish enough to just be glad you're here. And I can't imagine anyone else not feeling the same way."

He bent down and gently brushed her lips with his own. Just enough pressure to let her know that he would always be there for her. He pulled back, his previous haze of lust dissipated. Her gaze was intent, as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered. She used to look at him like that once upon a time, but now he wasn't sure what she meant by it. Slowly leaning forward, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and in one quick motion, pulled it over his head.

She gasped, a small shocked noise, and then softly kissed a spot on his right side, right below his ribs. He had a permanent reminder there of an encounter with a set of claws. She kissed the red welts, the thin silver lines, the bits of ugly, twisted flesh. She kissed every mark on his chest, every healed wound on his shoulders, every scar on his arms, she even twirled her tongue around the thin line on his index finger tip, acquired when he slipped chopping an onion. When she finished, she pulled back, looking at him with the sweetest smile he had ever witnessed. Then she reached past him.

It took him a moment to register that she had taken off her wedding and engagement rings and left them on his night table. By the time he fully understood what she had done, her hands were tenderly cupping his face. As she pulled his head down, his eyes fluttered closed, wanting to concentrate solely on the feel of her lips on his. Instead, she pulled him down to the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Memory threatened to overcome him, even as his tongue sought out the small bit of roughness on her skin, her only imperfection, a mark he had put there. He had spent years reliving those moments, hating himself for his weakness, for the pleasure he had found in draining her, for the proof positive that he was a monster. All of that was gone now, though. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't smell the blood that rushed beneath her skin and even if he somehow could, he had no desire to taste it. For the first time ever, he saw that long ago moment as a sacred connection between them, an act of selfless love given and received. He nipped lightly at the spot and one of her hands gripped his arm tight enough to bruise it, but her soft moan of pleasure ensured that the pain didn't register.

He could feel her hands moving down his chest and as she shifted away from him, she pulled her shirt and bra over her head in one swift motion. He was speechless and for a moment, she was a seventeen-year-old girl again, giving him the only gift he had ever wanted – her love. He bent down, eagerly pressing his mouth and tongue to her breast, the feel of her own mouth on his neck and chest causing his mind to empty itself of everything except the delicious feel and taste of her. They managed to shuck the rest of their clothes even as they somehow never let go of each other, fingers and mouths and tongues rubbing and touching and licking, small grunts and startled groans the only noises.

He had been with hundreds of women over the span of his long life; none of them, aside from Darla, had made much of an individual impression. Excepting, of course, Buffy. She still hummed inside of him; he hadn't forgotten a single intimate note. The way she smelled, smoke and musk and violets; the way her skin was marked by a single mole (a beauty mark, she had announced with righteous indignation) that was just above her bellybutton; the way she tasted of salt and almonds; the way her ass fit perfectly in his hands as he lifted her onto his cock.

A moment later, she rolled them so he was on top, completely surrounded by her. Her entire torso was pressed into his body, hard nipples rubbing against his chest. Her arms and legs were wrapped tightly around his back, her tongue inside his mouth, pushing in and out, mimicking the way his cock was slowly stroking in and out of her body. She tilted her hips so that he was impossibly deeper. There was no thought now except for the desire to merge with her. He had been human for eight years now, but only in this moment was he finally free of the past.

She was chanting his name now, screaming and moaning and crying, "Angel." He had known love when he had that name, and he knew it again and as he spilled hard and deep into her willing body, he experienced bliss once more. Everything was forgotten, his sins forgiven, and he once again tasted heaven, because heaven and Buffy would always be synonymous.

He was crying and laughing as he kissed her hair, her nose, her cheeks; he pulled her body tightly next to his. Here was the final proof he was redeemed. She was kissing him back with equal abandon.

"I love you, Angel. Still. Always." She rested her head on his chest, right where his heart was and he remembered a day that never happened, so long ago. He could feel her breath hitch the tiniest bit.

"Sweet, my love," he murmured. He turned a little and he caught a glimpse of golden jewelry and beyond that, a photo of a young girl who was part of his heart. Differently than Buffy, but there just the same. He wasn't going to lose his soul, but the sudden intrusion of the real world was just as harsh in its own way. He wasn't a prince and Buffy would never need rescuing. Not by him.

He half expected her to tell him she'd never forget but instead she looked at him with resignation in her eyes. She had also known that this was only a shadow play and nothing to do with their real lives.

"Do you think there are other worlds?" Her voice caught and she looked away for a moment. "I mean, parallel dimensions. Like the world without shrimp."

"There are. And in one of them, there's this regular girl named Buffy. And she likes to go to the local dance club with her friends. And one day, this regular guy walks in. And his name is Angel."

"And he sees her and thinks she's the most beautiful girl ever?"

"No, I mean, yeah, he thinks she's very pretty, but that's not it." He regrouped, trying to marshal his thoughts. He needed her to understand, even though it wouldn't make any difference. "She's so alive. Like she's burning hotter than everybody else there. And as he gets to know her, he sees that she's brave and funny and self assured and wonderful."

"And they stay together? He never leaves her?" She sounded like a child, looking for reassurances in the dark.

"He never leaves her." Angel was holding her hand, fingers interlaced, but neither of them looked at the other one.

"And they're happy?"

"Bliss." He could barely speak the words. "Every day is bliss for them, Buffy."

"I do love Damien."

"I know you do."

Neither of them moved, until finally Angel reached over and slowly, carefully, reverently placed her engagement and wedding rings back on the appropriate fingers. He thought that the tremble in his hand was so subtle that maybe she didn't even notice it. He threw on his boxers, pants, and shirt and moved toward the door without looking back, as if he was Lot. "I'm going to go make sure the cab gets here on time."

 

"You sure you don't want me to come to the airport with you?" They were standing on the steps leading into his building, the taxi already waiting.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

He wondered what would happen if he told her that somehow they could make it work. They'd figure it out and they'd be happy. But then he remembered seeing her at Giles' home and the way she looked at her husband to be, and he was reminded that she already was happy.

She laid her hand on his cheek and her eyes were the color of London's fog. It was where she belonged. "Live," she whispered. "Please live." Her lips brushed his for just an instant. She tasted like tears. "Goodbye, Angel."

He stood there staring until long after the taxi had taken her away. Finally, he trudged back inside. She had never said goodbye before.

Ari wasn't coming over tonight and he felt at loose ends. He wandered into the kitchen in order to clean up the ruined meal he and Buffy had never eaten. He was placing the last pot in the dishwasher when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a scrap of paper. He picked it up and thought about falling in love. He thought about Ari and his dead friends and the son he gave away. He thought about trying to make the world a better place and about becoming a man and how much he still had to learn about that. He thought about Buffy and her final words.

He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hi. This is Cian Brennan…Oh, so she already told you. Yeah, she did the same to me." He laughed a little, leaning against the kitchen wall, arms crossed over his chest. "A magic shop is a very interesting business…So, maybe you'd like to go for a cup of coffee tomorrow afternoon…Yeah, I know the place. Two-ish? Great, see you then."

He closed his eyes, not exactly sure what he felt. A strange sort of anticipation, he supposed. He walked into his bedroom in order to put his sketchpads away.


End file.
